“What part exactly are you sorry about?” Adrik asked, voice flat.
Burian’s jaw twitched. “The rumor. About Sergei talking to the FBI.” He said it like he still wasn’t convinced it was a rumor.
Adrik let out a short, humorless breath. “Of course.” He didn’t bother hiding the contempt. “You always had a talent for stirring shit when you’re jealous.”
“What does that mean?” Burian asked.
“I never want to see or hear from you after I leave here.”
Burian’s eyes flicked up, sharp and defensive, but he didn’t argue.
Viktor cut in. “Does that go for all of us?”
Adrik hesitated, the weight of the room pressing in. “I don’t know yet.”
Burian muttered something under his breath—loud enough to be heard, quiet enough to pretend he hadn’t meant it. “Bet he saw Sergei here. I wasn’t wrong about them.”
Adrik felt the jab land. Viktor did too; his gaze sharpened. “Did you see Sergei?”
“For five minutes,” Adrik said. “That’s it.”
Burian leaned back, smugness creeping in. “See? Just like I said. They were sneaking around right under your nose.”
Viktor turned to Adrik. “Do you love Sergei?”
Adrik rolled his eyes, irritation spiking hot. “There was never anything between us. Not like that.” Then he shot Burian a look. “And you can stop projecting your fantasies onto my life.”
He faced his father again. “Sergei tutored me. Protected me. Under your orders. That’s all. This whole circus is exhausting.”
He didn’t wait for another question. He walked out, heart pounding, and headed straight to his room. He packed quickly—he’d gotten good at leaving places behind—and made all his check-in calls.
He emailed the itinerary to Hans, then typed out a message with fingers that finally felt steady.
Adrik:Picking up my mother from the hospital. I can’t wait to see you.
He paused, staring at the blinking cursor.
He hit send.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Adrik
Seversk, Russia
Adrik followed Viktor andBurian each carrying a bouquet of roses into the hospital room, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. His mother sat waiting in a wheelchair, wrapped in a soft blanket, her hair brushed neatly like she’d been preparing for this moment. The second she saw all three of them together—her husband, her sons—her face crumpled. Tears spilled instantly.
The sight of her crying knocked the air out of him. His chest tightened, a sharp pinch right beneath his ribs, and he had to swallow hard against the sudden knot in his throat. For a second, he couldn’t move—just stood there, heat rising behind his eyes as something familiar twisted inside him.
He leaned over and kissed her cheek, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume. Viktor kissed her next, then Burian. For a moment, they looked like a family again. A broken one, sure, but still a family.
Viktor wheeled her out to the car, and Adrik walked beside them, hands shoved in his pockets, trying to ignore the knot tightening in his stomach. He hated hospitals. He hated Russia. He hated how small his mother looked in that chair.
Once they got home, they gathered in her bedroom and had the roses put in vases on her dresser. The room was warm, filled with soft lamplight and the faint smell of lavender. Viktor sat on the edge of the bed as if he belonged there. Adrik and Burian stood, both of them awkward and tense, like they weren’t sure where to put their hands or their emotions.
“I want you to return to New York with me,” Viktor said, voice gentle but firm.
His mother turned her head toward Adrik, eyes searching his face. “Tell me, Adrik… did you settle things with your father?”
